


Trashed

by NeverComingHome



Category: Toy Story Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3185615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverComingHome/pseuds/NeverComingHome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not a love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trashed

**Author's Note:**

> A combination of two writings.

Sid likes to break things. He likes crushing them down and twisting his foot back and forth. When he chucks the garbage bags into the truck he likes hearing the machines envelope an already shapeless ball. Andy is like a toy with no scratches, like the the un-dented beer can he offers after they’ve run into each other on campus, Andy towards it and Sid away. Sid has a bruise on his jaw and Andy is fumbling with a pile of stuff that includes way too many books for a Saturday night.

“What are you doing nimrod?” Sid calls from half way across the quad.

The jerk of his head is all it takes for the unsteady tower to spill onto the pavement. Sid calls him an idiot beneath his breath and walks over. The wind blows Andy’s hair and papers backward, school notes wrapping around the young man’s arm as he attempts to rearrange it with shaking hands.

“Are you drunk?”

“No.” He grabs a notebook from beside Sid’s foot. “I got into an argument with my mom over this…stupid thing and my sister has my car so I had to-”

“Whoa, do I have ‘shrink’ tattooed on my forehead?”

Andy looks up, eyes tracing his face as if searching for the words before laughing briefly and attempting to stack the books and folders back into his arms. “Nice seeing you, Sidney, always a pleasure.”

Sid’s arms ache from the fight with his old man, he’s tired as fuck and all he wants is to go home, jerk off in the armchair, and pass out with a bottle of corona. He’s uncomplicated like that and he knows if he opens his mouth things will start to get all sorts of un-simple real fast. So he doesn’t open his mouth, instead he swings the gym bag off his shoulder and holds it open to Andy who smartly doesn’t question him and drops the mess inside.

 

~*~  
His roommates are out being normal; getting drunk and getting stupid with the townies.

“They call me AnD, ya know, as in ‘designated driver’. Here.” He tosses a can at Sid who hasn’t moved from his place at the door. “I left a message about the car, but Eric’s still gonna be pissed.” he pops the tab on his own beer, raising an eyebrow at the still stationary Sid, “Do you want to have a seat?”

“I’m not staying.”

“Okay, I’ll put these up.” He disappears into a room with bag and beer, the sound of shoes being kicked aside and things in general being pushed around. Sid wonders vaguely what Andy’s room looks like, if it’s a mess like his own never was. He was always a little chaotic when it came to decorating, but all his possessions had a place, nothing strayed or stuck out. Someone had tried to tell him it was a little OCD, but he explained that it was called having your shit together and not strewn all over like a hippie. 

He drops onto the couch, taking a sip of the beer and raising his voice to ask Andy why he let them call him Didi or whatever, sticking his tongue out at the taste of the alcohol and taking bigger swallows to finish it off.

“I don’t know, it’s not like it’s an insult, I like helping out.” _Doormat_ Sid mouths and chuckles. “Besides I hate being drunk.” He comes out in sweats and a white beater holding up the can. “This is the most I usually have.”

When they were kids Sid always wondered if Andy was some silent rebel, the A student who stole cars when the sun set. It didn’t make sense for someone to be so clean, to squeak when they walked and not so much as clench their fists when Sid shoved him onto the blacktop and chucked his army man into a tree. 

Andy’s talking about his mother now, about how he told her he was sorry for looking like and having the personality of the man who broke her heart and for existing and never closing the door all the way and for being too perfect and never raising his eyes from the carpet when she yelled at him for her own regrets. When he was done apologizing she congratulated him for finding his voice and slammed the door in his face. 

Sid tells him parents are supposed to make your life hell then asks if he has anything in the fridge that doesn't taste like stale piss.

He’s sober when he kisses him, but it still tastes of beer. He moves where Sid guides him and his legs part l when Sid’s hand crawls beneath the thin shirt. His face is way too smooth for a boy’s, like a Ken doll, and Sid’s fingers tighten in his hair, tugging his head back like he expects it to pop off, but instead of setting off all sorts of red lights and stranger danger warnings, the little goody two shoes gets _hard_.

“Holy…” he says, mouth parted and Sid knows he’s going to fuck him, their kisses slowly grow in intensity as he attempts to convey the message to Andy, but impatiently ends up telling him to stand up straight which he does, shifting from foot to foot nervously under the other’s gaze.

“Take off your pants.”

“Uh, okay.” His fingers linger on the pull string.

“Just shove ‘em down, Davis, I don’t want a strip tease.”

He laughs, swallows hard, and does it. He’s wearing boxers, the black and yellow school colors, his cock pushing out the bee splashed across it. Sid moves forward, tilts his head and licks the stinger. Andy bites his lower lip, hand twitching briefly.

“Do we like that?”

“Not complaining, am I?” 

Sid grabs his ass and presses his mouth against Andy in one quick movement, hears him hiss something that could be fuck, but probably isn’t and almost topple over. Sid pulls down the boxers, presses his sneaker into the crotch so Andy can step out of them and the sweats, naked from the waist down. Sid tells him to keep his hands flat against the outside of them and goes down on him. Andy makes a noise like he’s swallowing a moan, as if letting on how much he loves this will break the spell. It wouldn’t surprise Sid if his old neighbor was still a virgin, if he hadn’t dated Sid’s cousin who bragged about popping Davis’s cherry. Still his last time must’ve been a while, Sid’s only been licking the underside of his dick and moving it in and out of his mouth for a few minutes and Andy is one cup of the balls from coming. 

“Damn it,” he growls when Sid pulls away with a laugh, “please I’m just...” he wraps a hand around the base of his cock, staring forlornly at the other’s mouth. Sid isn’t paying attention, undoing his belt and searching his pockets for a condom. “Are you leaving?” Andy asks quietly, thinking he’s looking for his keys, eyebrows brought together in a frown that would be sort of adorable if his hard on wasn’t making Sid think decidedly un-adorable thoughts. Un-adorable thoughts like Andy on his back with his knees pulled up.

He fishes a black wrapper from his wallet and holds it up to answer Andy’s question before fielding one of his own.

“Want to play a game?”

~*~  
Andy’s hands are tied up with Sid’s belt; twisted leather that will leave chain link patterns around his wrists he won’t be able to explain without blushing and finding something else to look at. 

“Put it in,” he breathes, straining against the belt, unsure of who he is because he’s positive he’s not capable of sounding this helpless. Sid’s fingers are in him and he’s biting his neck, stroking down his chest, letting Andy’s dick brush his skin whenever he re-positions himself atop him. His cock feathers against Sid at random intervals, sometimes ghosting across, sometimes pressed so hard up against that his hips twitch out of instinct, searching for something to thrust into, but being denied.

“You’re such an asshole.” 

“Did you just curse at me, Didi?” He pulls back and Andy lifts his head to watch him slide the condom on while never breaking eye contact. “Hope I’m not having a bad influence on you.” His hand wraps around Andy’s ankle. Maybe we should stop before you get all corrupted.”

He makes no move to pull away, but that doesn’t keep Andy’s mouth from opening and words from spilling out, four letter words that quicken Sid’s entry into him, bringing the teasing rubs and drifting fingers to a halt. He’s in him and it’s wet but Sid‘s never been one to make things easy. The thin frame of the bed rocks with their movements and Andy nails curl into his fist as he tries to tell him to slow down or relax his grip or he’s going to come, going to-

“Davis.” Sid groans, upper body boneless as he focuses all his strength on pumping into Andy.

“No,” the other pants, “my name, call me…”

He breaks off and Sid thrusts until he’s there too, fingers leaving ankle to push himself up, undo the belt and press an open mouthed kiss to the other’s ear, whispering his name breathlessly over and over until it blurs together into a breeze against Andy’s neck. 

Andy turns his head and kisses him, hauls him atop so his legs are straddling Andy’s waist and he doesn’t have to do anything, but lie there with his hands still on either side of the pillow while Sid’s tongue dips into his mouth, lazily taking control of the moment. 

~*~

They come back to each other again and again after that, like a record skipping in the dark. Andy calls it “fate”, but Sid just thinks it’s bullshit, something to grind his forehead into his palm for at the bar as he orders himself a beer and to stop showing up at that kid’s doormat like it was meant for his feet; his ratty sneakers kicking the door because he’s been too patient to wait a second longer once he finally gives in.

“Do you want to have a seat?” Andy always asks, marks still red on his wrists, but never pretending he knows the answer.

Sid bites off his gloves, asks if his roommates are there and it’s fine to pretend he doesn’t care when they aren‘t, when they’re at the table eating or chatting and Andy grins and asks if he wants to join them as if just the other night they hadn't torn shirts and cracked bed posts. Sid never was that great with his stuff, with lining them all up on the shelf for display and tossing them gently up and into waiting hands. He likes to put things to use, to bend them to his will then wonder why they constantly tear and break.

~*~

“That boy will be the end of you,” their friends say about the other.

Andy shakes his head, thinking of how Sid shoves him for caring, sulks when he doesn’t care enough, how sometimes he'll lay at his side with a smile, staring at Andy like unconquered territory and plastic arms in the dirt.

Sid just laughs and says ‘Duh’ like that’s the point. Maybe it is.


End file.
